Off the Clock
by In Hiding
Summary: Skye vows to help Coulson go "off the clock" from time to time, for the sake of their team, for the sake of S.H.I.E.L.D., and for the sake of the planet. (A series of canon-compliant episode companion and gap pieces focusing primarily on the relationship between Skye and Coulson.)
1. First Mission

**SETTING:** Picks up immediately after 1x22 ("Beginning of the End"). General spoilers for season 1.  
 **CHAPTER SUMMARY:** The team gets settled at the Playground, and Skye decides the new Director needs some help with going "off the clock".

* * *

"So, where would you like to start?"

Billy's question, obvious and meant to be innocuous, found Phil Coulson internally paralyzed. Still reeling from Fury's response to his own similar question not long ago - "That's up to you" - Coulson suddenly wanted to begin by finding a private place and having a good long cry. This was totally out of character for him, but in his defense, fairly recently everything HAD gone to hell.

"I think everyone could use a trip to the med bay so I can check you out," Jemma suggested.

"That's a good idea," Coulson affirmed, glad to find his voice even. "Agent Koenig, why don't you and I meet while Simmons takes care of that?"

"I'll want to see you too, sir," Jemma said firmly.

Coulson gave a little nod. And then he made a decision that helped him breathe just a little easier, creating some space for himself. "I want everyone to take the next" - he checked his watch - "37 hours off. Find a bunk, get settled, take some R&R."

"But sir -" May began.

"Non-negotiable. We have a lot of work to do going forward, and this may be the last 'stay-cation' I offer for awhile. Take it. We'll assemble at 08:00 two days from now for a briefing. Do whatever you need to do, outside of work, to be ready." He turned to Koenig. "Agent? Lead the way."

And as he followed Billy to his new office, he could feel the urgency like bile rising in his throat. 37 hours wasn't a long time to figure out how to protect the planet, especially when his brain was still fighting to process all that had changed in the hours (not to mention days, weeks and months) previous - much only slightly outdone at least on his personal scale by Fury's passing of the torch.

The others accompanied Simmons to the med bay as requested, Skye walking arm-and-arm with the young scientist who seemed to drink in the comforting contact. Her voice was controlled as she explained Fitz' comatose condition and outlined the potential prognoses, but her eyes were wet and bright and a tear or two would occasionally spill over and run down her cheek.

Fitz was stable now, and had been entrusted to Jemma's capable hands at her insistence - no other medical personnel had been cleared to join them at this new secret base, and she couldn't bear the thought of being separated from him - though there was little she could do for him in this state other than monitor and keep him comfortable. And hope, pray, that when and if he woke up he would still be someone recognizable as Fitz.

Oddly, it was her brain that held out hope, which was why her words were steady and sure. But her heart was what kept the tears in her eyes.

She wasn't the only one wearing her heart on her sleeve. Skye openly wept as they came to stand around Fitz' bed. Trip looked stricken. May looked angry.

Jemma was just glad in that moment that she had work to do that would actually HELP after feeling so futile these last few days, and prepared to get her friends fixed up.

When Billy bustled into the med bay not long after, he immediately brought up a hand to shield his eyes, and then turned his back to what he had unexpectedly witnessed: three agents shirtless and sitting in a row on an exam table as Jemma tended to them. Yes, the women were wearing sports bras, but he'd been alone at this base for awhile and even before that it had been some time since he'd seen so much female flesh in person.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I thought I'd let you know that I'm cooking up something special for dinner to welcome you all here. Should be ready in 30 minutes or so, if that will give you enough time to get patched up and cleaned up." He peeked over his shoulder at Jemma, who nodded in the affirmative. "Agent Simmons, will you show your colleagues the bunks and showers?"

"I'd be happy to."

And even May smiled a bit when he walked purposefully back out of the room without another look.

"So are we going to talk about how crazy this whole Billy-Eric deja vu thing is or not?" Skye asked finally, causing them all to chuckle.

"I don't know," Trip commented. "Considering what we've been through the last few weeks, that may actually be pretty low on the crazy-scale."

He meant it to be lighthearted, but it caused even him to fall into silence as they let Jemma debride, stitch, bandage, and medicate.

A half hour later, cleaned up as best they could without undoing Simmons' medical handiwork but at least in fresh clothes, the four of them were assembled in the dining area and accepting heaping plates of food from Billy, which they lit into with gusto; three of them hadn't had much opportunity to eat in awhile and were famished, while Jemma simply hadn't had much appetite since she'd arrived but was apparently inspired by her friends' enthusiasm and the the quality of the cuisine, and even went back for seconds. Billy used the time to offer a brief orientation, continuing as they assisted with clean-up.

Then it was time for 'the chair', and no one objected. They'd all been through this lie detection system before and just wanted to get it out of the way. As Skye, Trip and May waited outside while Billy set up the equipment, it was Skye who couldn't help but comment, "I get why we have to do this, but it's not as if did a lot of good with Ward."

Normally, they would have launched into theories and explanations of how he must have beaten the machine. But Coulson's order of "stay-cation", while not being consciously observed, was apparently more needed than they realized. Because in that moment none of them had it in them to think about Ward too much at all.

Jemma was back with Fitz, recording his stats, checking his catheter and switching out the drainage bag (oh, wouldn't he be embarrassed by all of this!), and then just sitting. Watching him breathe. Willing him to awaken. Coulson entered silently and watched, too. Watched Fitz, but also Simmons. "Jemma," he began quietly.

"Oh, sir!" And she was up out of her chair in an instant, swiping at stray tears and putting on her bravest face. "Are you ready for me to examine you?"

He waved off the suggestion, crossing to Fitz. He paused, then took the young man's hand, needing the reassurance of warmth. "Are you up to giving me a report on his condition?"

"Of course, sir." Ever the good soldier, her voice was pleasant, detached, professional. But her eyes wouldn't stop leaking tears, and when Coulson left Fitz' side and touched her arm, it took everything in her to keep from completely falling apart.

Trip joined them then, and with one glance at Jemma he accurately gauged the situation. "Director Coulson, why don't you let me take a look at you? Leave Simmons to tend to Fitz, and if we discover anything that needs some extra doctoring we can call her in."

Simmons eyes were almost pleading for assent when Coulson looked to her for guidance, so he nodded and left her with a final sympathetic expression and a final squeeze of her shoulder.

Trip's medical training was nowhere near as extensive as Simmons', but he had solid field-level skills and was able to tend to Coulson without assistance; in this case, it was just making sure nothing was broken - he'd already done First Aid on the bus, but he'd been rushed and was glad to have more time to make sure - and sending some supplies Coulson could apply or reapply himself after he got cleaned up. He also had the good sense to leave Coulson to his thoughts and work with minimal chatter. After all, the Director had mandated R&R, and nothing he could think of to talk about, nothing he WANTED to talk about, wasn't directly related to their work. Following orders.

As Coulson dressed, he watched Trip re-enter Fitz' room, heard the argument of sorts that ensued as Trip offered, then demanded, to stay with Fitz for awhile so that Jemma could have a break, promising that he would alert her if anything changed. Finally she relented and disappeared without another word to Coulson.

Trip stuck his head back in the room as Coulson was preparing to leave. "We left a plate for you in the kitchen, wrapped up in the fridge. Koenig tell you where it was?"

Coulson held up a tablet. "He gave me a map. Thanks." He felt strangely touched that they had thought of him, then realized it was silly to feel that way. Of COURSE they had thought of him. It was Billy's job to make sure he had everything he needed. And between May, Skye and Simmons, his mother hen quota was more than met.

Which May went on to prove when he ran into her not long after he'd eaten. "I put your stuff in the C.O.'s bunk. Let me show you where it is so you can get settled."

He followed her obediently, surveying the space and deeming it clean and comfortable-looking, despite the maze of boxes he wasn't looking forward to unpacking. "Are all the rooms this big?" he asked, sticking his head inside the en suite, a perk he hadn't previously enjoyed in base housing.

"Nope. But you're the Director now. That entitles you to a little extra space. And a bathtub, apparently." She gave him a hard look. "Which I'm sure you'll be willing to lend out from time to time."

"Yes, ma'am."

The corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly. "I'll leave you to it, then."

But as she was turning to depart, he stopped her. "May."

She waited, raised an eyebrow, waited some more. But when he didn't speak again, her expression softened. "I know, Phil." A pause. "Get cleaned up and get some rest. We'll talk about it in... well, in 34 hours, I guess."

"Give or take." And then he smiled, all the way to his eyes. "Enjoy your stay-cation," he called as she shut the door behind her.

He was stiff, sore, and dirty. He stripped off his clothes and allowed himself a few minutes to luxuriate in the hot shower, his mind so overwhelmed that it grew blissfully numb for awhile. As he applied ointments and bandages, then dressed in dark sweat pants and an old S.H.I.E.L.D. training tee-shirt, he considered simply trying to give in to his exhaustion and start fresh in the morning. But he hadn't yet finished the rounds; there was one member of his team left to connect with, and he disliked leaving things undone.

Skye was easier to find than he expected, as boxes labelled with her name were piled outside one of the bunks. He could see a light under the door, so he knocked quietly and entered at her whispered invitation.

She greeted him with a finger to her lips. Jemma was fast asleep, her head in Skye's lap, the evidence of her recent break-down clear on her tear-stained face. Skye, looking impossibly young with her hair tied in two braids, her face free of makeup, and her pajama pants printed with cartoon ducks, was humming and raking gentle fingers through her friend's hair.

Coulson smiled in spite of himself, considering with sadness the horrors that the young woman had endured - that BOTH of them had endured - but also touched by this act of comfort and camaraderie.

"Something you need, boss?" Skye asked in a low voice, giving him a genuine smile.

She never ceased to amaze him. Where he had always been able to muster a smile through being a master at compartmentalization, Skye was just plain resilient. There was no doubt in his mind that she was just as devastated as the rest at all that had transpired, but she had a way of being in the moment that made him envious.

And in that moment, she was fed, she was clean, she had a new space all her own, and she had spent the last hour with a friend in her arms, trusted to provide solace and safety. So why shouldn't she smile?

"No, nothing. Just wanted to make sure you were settling in."

Very carefully she shifted Jemma off of her lap, tucking a pillow under her head instead, standing, pausing a moment to smooth back her friend's hair. Then she switched off the light and motioned for Coulson to follow her from the room, sliding the door shut so they could speak freely. "I'm going to go talk to Trip, see if he wants me to stay with Fitz. Simmons intended to go back for the night, but I imagine if I don't disturb her she should sleep for a few hours at least." She looked at him hopefully. "Walk with me?"

"Of course."

Both of them were barefoot as they wordlessly padded their way to the med bay. Skye seemed to sense that he wasn't in a talking mood, and while usually she was a bit of a conversational bull in a china shop, tonight she was happy enough to respect his wishes.

They found Trip fast asleep on the cot Jemma had been using since she'd arrived at the Playground. Fitz seemed to be resting peacefully, his condition unchanged. Skye left a note for Trip, encouraging him to text her when he was ready to be relieved, then took a moment to observe Fitz before pressing her lips to his smooth forehead.

"You think he'll wake up?"

"I do," he told her honestly.

"You think he'll still be Fitz?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she looked over her shoulder at him and he shrugged helplessly.

She understood, nodded, kissed Fitz again and then left the room, Coulson trailing after her.

"Where are you going to sleep?" he asked her as they headed back.

"I'll find Simmons' room and sleep in there, I guess. Though I'm kind of wired."

"Me too." Coulson was telling the truth. Somewhere along the way he'd gotten a second wind. He doubted it would last long, HOPED it wouldn't last long, because he felt his mind starting to reach for problems and solutions. And he knew in his current state he'd only go in circles and drive himself crazy.

"Netflix binge?"

It was a tempting offer. But tomorrow he would need to wake up early and figure out how to save the world. Or something. "Thanks, but I'd better pass. Wired or not, I need to rest or I'll be useless in the morning."

"We're on 'stay-cation', A.C. Sorry, *D*.C.," she emphasized. "It'd probably do you some good to be useless in the morning."

"I'm afraid that little alphabetic upgrade is the reason I don't get to be useless," he told her with more than a hint of self-pity in his voice. "There's that rather important matter I've been tasked with of rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. I don't think free time is included in the benefits package."

"Fantastic," she said sarcastically. "You've been in charge for less than a day and you've already set yourself up to crash and burn."

"Skye..." he began in warning.

"Not that I'm talking about work; I'm under orders to get R&R, after all." She smiled prettily at him. "But I'd like to think I've gotten to know you pretty well. And it seems to me that you generally have your best ideas when you've given your brain a break."

"That may be so," he agreed, "but there was a lot less to do and a lot less at stake when I was just a small cog in a big wheel."

"Coulson" she began incredulously, "I'm betting it's been a long time since you were a small anything. You've been larger than life for as long as I've known you, and that kind of presence doesn't just come out of nowhere. No, you've been building that ego for a long time."

"Ego!" he repeated accusingly. He found the idea distasteful and a little hurtful. He halted their forward motion and touched her arm lightly so she turned to face him. "Is that really how you see me?"

The look on her face had diffused his emotional response before she even spoke, though her words would certainly have done the trick on their own. "There's nothing wrong with knowing you're something special when you ARE something special...sir."

He didn't know how to respond to that, but apparently the change of his expression was enough. She curled her hand around his elbow briefly and they resumed their journey back to the living area.

"I know you're right. About giving my brain a break," he admitted eventually. "I'm just not sure how that's going to work. There's SO much to do. And I don't know how I'd ever be able to justify wasting time, let alone actually be able to disengage enough to STOP." He sighed. "Even right now I can feel myself wanting to get started. Like it's hanging over me."

"That sounds an awful lot like 'dread'," she told him, and that seemed to make her sad. "Phil, I know it must seem like a burden now, and it always will be in some ways. But you really ARE something special. And you have the potential to build something amazing and help so many people and fix this big mess that's been made. Fresh start, clean slate. Doesn't that at ALL excite you?"

There it was again, that sense of amazement he felt. After all she'd been through, how could she still hold on to optimism, and be so quietly contagious about it?

So when he stopped this time, he smiled down at her with a real, genuine smile. "You're something special too, you know."

She shrugged, smiling herself to cover her self-consciousness. "I know, I'm kind of incredible." They both chuckled. Then she had a thought. "And that's why I'm going to be your new S.O."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You said you didn't know how you'd ever be able to rest and relax. Seems to me you need someone to help you with that, to supervise your progress. For the good of S.H.I.E.L.D., of course."

"Of course," he repeated, thoroughly amused. "And I suppose you're going to develop a strict regimen for me to follow."

"Absolutely; I'm surprising well versed. And I'm happy to literally write the manual for this one."

"Oh, really?"

"Unless you're not up to the challenge, of course," she smirked. "Or unless you think you'd be too intimidated by me as your S.O."

"Well, you are a bit of a hard ass."

"You're damn right I am," she said seriously, drawing herself to her full height and getting into character. "We'll call this... project "off the clock"."

"Very official," he teased in kind.

"And highly classified. I mean, I had to pull some pretty significant strings to be able to read you in."

"I'm honoured." And getting the feeling that this wasn't just her being silly, and she might actually be expecting to put him through some paces here. Which seemed all well and good in the condition he was currently in, but he might regret it when he was sobered by rest and responsibility. "And if I don't accept the assignment?"

"No longer an option, Director. You know too much."

Lucky for her - and, as it later turned out, for him - he couldn't deny her anything. "In that case, what are my orders?"

She broke from her S.O. persona to favour him with a delighted grin, and checked her watch. "Brush your teeth and do whatever you need to do to be ready for bed. I'll meet you in your bunk in 10 minutes with your first assignment."

"Understood," he told her with jaunty salute. He gave her directions, then did as he was told.

When he stepped into his room after preparing for bed, she was already there. "You're late," said said approvingly. "That's a good start. Drop and do absolutely nothing." She pointed at his bed. "I mean it. Go ahead and tuck in, Director."

"Yes ma'am," he replied, just on the right side of tired not to feel like this was crossing a line. Then again, it wasn't as if they hadn't been somewhat domestic before, being in such close quarters on the bus. And the line had been significantly re-positioned when they'd all shared two rooms at the motel.

He and Skye had even shared a bed for a bit, when May was on assignment and Jemma had food poisoning. Fitz had moved into the girls' room to care for her while Skye, a bit squeamish about those things, had moved into the boys' room for two nights. The first night she'd tried to share a bed with Trip at his kind offer, but Skye, unlike Fitz, wasn't always the deepest sleeper and Trip tended to move around a lot. So at around 3 a.m. Coulson had felt her gently shaking him by the shoulder and found her crouched beside him, sheepishly asking if she could sleep with him instead. He could barely remember grunting assent, but awoke sometime later with her freezing toes seeking warmth against his calves. The next night HE had tried to sleep with Trip to give Skye her own space, but when a dreaming Trip flung an arm across Coulson's torso, Phil hadn't even bothered waking Skye to ask before climbing back into his own bed. And when in the morning it was HER arm curled around him, he'd left it there, considering it the lesser of evils.

In any case, if he'd wanted to keep a professional distance from these people, from Skye, it was too late now. He could always start again tomorrow. And so he got into bed.

"Tonight's assignment is falling asleep with the 'T.V.' on so you don't think about work," she told him as she set up her laptop on a pile of boxes beside the bed so he could comfortably view it when laying on his side. "And lucky for you, Netflix has a billion seasons of 'Bones'."

"I don't know if I CAN fall asleep with the 'T.V.' on," he told her. "It's been awhile since I tried."

"Well, the good news, Director, is that you always have the option of taking your own orders to heart and sleeping in tomorrow." Then she was pressing play and climbing over him to sit cross-legged with her back against the wall. She used the remote on her phone to adjust the volume and settled in. "Have you seen this show before?"

And so they talked for a few minutes about the show, about what they were seeing. Chuckling at the appropriate times, commenting on the actors, the situations. But when Skye fell silent to watch in earnest, Coulson felt his mind begin to wander, and not in a way that heralded sleep.

"Director, I can hear you thinking. You have your orders," she reminded him, her voice strong but sympathetic.

"Sorry. I'll try to do better."

But in the end it was the hand that she placed on his bicep, her thumb tracing designs on his bare skin, that did the trick more than any effort of his own. First the sensation was jarring, but even as he found himself back to wondering about crossing lines he realized at least he wasn't thinking about work, not in the strictest sense. And then jarring gave way to soothing, and the next thing he knew, hours had passed. Skye was gone, the laptop was gone, and though it was still early he felt rested.

But he also felt... something else. And it was that something else that seemed to overtake him, seemed to drive and direct him to the storage room, to the knife, to the wall. And the last thought that was truly his own as he began for the first time to carve was that he wished Skye had stayed the night.


	2. Drawing Lines

**SETTING:** Picks up immediately after 1x22 ("Beginning of the End") and the chapter "First Mission" of this story. General spoilers for season 1.  
 **CHAPTER SUMMARY:** Skye helps Coulson sleep, and demonstrates that she understands the stakes.

* * *

'I know you're in there.'

Coulson sighed as he read the text. He'd suspected it was her when he'd heard the soft knock, and had made the decision to ignore her. Apparently, Skye didn't feel like being ignored.

"Big day tomorrow," he called out. "I'll see you in the morning."

Silence. Then another text. 'Are you naked or something?'

He chuckled in spite of himself, and texted back, 'If you must know, I'm sleeping.'

"Liar." She said it aloud, then followed up electronically with, 'It's 8 p.m., Coulson. And I can hear you thinking. It's distracting.'

'I'll do my best to turn it down.'

'How considerate.' A long pause while she typed. 'I'll go away if you can honestly tell me that whatever you're thinking about right now will put you further ahead in the morning than if you stopped to let your brain go off the clock.'

A much longer pause. "The door's open," he told her finally. And she let herself in.

Skye was wearing sweats, hugging a pillow to her chest and wrapped in a comforter. "Don't worry," she assured him with a smile in her voice. "I'm not moving in." She nearly tripped on a box near the door. "And apparently neither are you. I guess you didn't take the day off."

"That's the understatement of the year."

May had walked in on him while he was carving. Since it was his first time he of course hadn't know what was happening, hadn't thought to lock the door. It wasn't until it was over that he saw her sitting on the floor behind him, waiting. And when he had looked to the wall and the realization of what he had done hit him full force, he'd vomited in a corner.

That day, she was more like the Melinda he'd known back when they were partners. No less competent or loyal or trustworthy than ever, but warmer, more outwardly compassionate and reassuring than he'd seen her in a while. She'd walked him to his office and ordered him to stay there while she went back to clean up his sick and secure the room. When she'd returned, she'd taken charge and taken care of everything while being there as a sounding board as he worked through his shock, his anger, his dread. And his fear, for himself and for Skye.

May had made it clear to Billy that they weren't to be disturbed, that no one was to be allowed anywhere near the office until she told him otherwise. She also made him officially block off the storage room; later she would document the carvings and then procure the materials to return the wall to rights. She'd made Coulson eat and hydrate. She'd made a plan to monitor Skye to make sure this wasn't happening to her.

And then she'd remained to help him set up his office as they talked through the next steps for S.H.I.E.L.D. and their team. Convincing him (at least for now, barely) that it wasn't the time for him to give up and give in, promising that she would continue to have his back, evaluate his choices, make sure he was capable and sane and HIMSELF. And if the time came when that was no longer the case, she would do what needed to be done.

It was during the delivery of that promise that Coulson really recognized her as the woman he'd know before Bahrain. Because she'd had tears in her eyes, and had stroked the back of the hand she was holding with such tenderness.

It had been the longest day of his life, and so when May had more or less ordered him to bed, he'd gone without argument. Which is why he was laying on top of the covers with his hands folded on his chest, the lights out and his mind racing, at only 8 p.m.

Which is where Skye now found him.

"So was it worth it? Everything ready for tomorrow?"

He turned his head to look at her, her body casting a long shadow across his bed from the light coming in from the hallway. "Yeah, everything's ready."

He was actually pretty confident that it was, at least when other circumstances weren't being considered, could be pushed away. Objectively, singularly, his plan was sound. If these next baby steps existed in a vacuum where the past could be forgotten, where the reason that they needed to rebuild could be glossed over, he could actually feel good about it all, cautiously optimistic that hope wasn't completely lost.

Skye would be tasked with rebuilding a secure communications system outside of the normal S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols and frequencies, something Hydra wasn't already tuned in to. Trip was to work with Koenig on cataloging capital assets burned by Hydra's infiltration that could potentially be liquidated, and supplies and equipment that could potentially be reappropriated. Skye would be key in making that happen in a way that didn't lead back to them, but inventory came first. All of them were to compile lists of potential assets and allies that might still be loyal and alive, that might be candidates to add to their ranks. Skye would be responsible for finding them, creating the initial dossiers and profiles for review.

(It was a lot of responsibility for someone so (young, May had said) new to their organization. But there was no question she excelled in her areas of experience and expertise. And Coulson trusted her. There were so few people left in his life that he could trust.)

Simmons would need to be in charge of the lab, and was to create a report on the supplies and personnel she needed. (Though everyone knew what she needed was for Fitz to recover, and that everything else would just be "making due".)

May had already volunteered for her first assignment, which was reviewing the tape and results of Ward's lie detector test so that they could try to determine how he'd beat it. That couldn't happen again; they needed this technology to help ensure that the people who would join them in this base, on this team, were actually who they said they were. Because obviously relying solely on their own judgment was something they wouldn't be able to do for a while, if ever again.

He wished that there was someone else to take on this task, considering May's relationship with Ward, considering her anger (easily witnessed at the surface, anger at herself for being fooled and at Ward for all of his sins) and her grief (which would never been seen, but he knew it couldn't be avoided). But no one in his little band of crusaders had been untouched by Ward's cruelty and deception.

Ward had killed Billy's brother. He had dropped FitzSimmons out of a plane, left them for dead. He had kidnapped Skye, used her. He had betrayed Coulson and the ideals that he held closest, that he'd surrendered his life and career to. He had betrayed them all.

"Any spoilers you'd like to share?" Skye asked hopefully. She'd done well staying away from anything strictly work related that day. She, Jemma and Trip had helped each other get moved in, had set up a room for Fitz as well. And it felt good to be together, to be with people who understood without having to talk about it. But then they DID have to talk about it, and it helped, because they didn't need to hold back, because it was okay if someone needed to swear or scream or cry or just be held (Trip's arms around them both, strong and secure), but it also DIDN'T help, because it didn't change anything. Returning to work, she hoped, would allow her to feel as though she was doing something to help them toward a better future, even if there was nothing she could do to alter the past.

"Tomorrow will come soon enough," he told her firmly. "Besides, you look like you're headed to bed."

"Nope. Movie night starts in five minutes. Monty Python. I wanted Life of Brian but I got outvoted, so Holy Grail it is."

One of his favourites, May had told them, in the same breath as telling Skye not to bother asking him. But Skye couldn't know what kind of day Coulson had endured, only knew that he was a part of this team and he shouldn't be left out.

She turned on the light and gave him a once over. "You should put on socks. I found out today that Trip has this thing about feet."

He made no move except the slightest lifting of an eyebrow.

"Not that he's INTO feet or anything," she clarified as though she thought that was the reason for his reaction, rather than the implicit instruction. (She knew it wasn't.) "He just thinks they're gross."

"Skye."

Amazing how they'd learned to condense their communication in the time they'd know each other, how Coulson could emote and inflect so much into a single syllable, and how she could tell by the hardness or softness around his eyes how he wanted or needed her to respond.

Also amazing was her skill at so accurately deciphering the difference between his 'want' and 'need'.

"Let's go, Director." Her voice was low and even, resolved. "They'll be waiting for us."

There were all kinds of perfectly acceptable, professional reasons to deny her, not the least of which was that he WAS the Director now, and for the sake of S.H.I.E.L.D. and all they needed to accomplish, boundaries would have to be put into place. He recognized that things had gotten messy before, on the bus. They were a small, specialized team in close quarters, and whether by action or inaction he'd let them build a family around him. Maybe if he'd kept things more professional, Ward's deception wouldn't have fooled him. Maybe if he hadn't allowed Fitz to so endear himself, his heart wouldn't be breaking at the thought of the young scientist never waking up.

Maybe if he hadn't let Skye so often get away with treating him like her friend rather than her boss, she wouldn't be standing in his room now, telling him to put on his socks.

So Coulson knew he could pull rank, send her away; it was within his rights and certainly within his power. And maybe it would have been the best choice. But he also knew it would make her frustrated, maybe make her angry.

And today, in that moment, he just couldn't stand the thought of making her angry.

With the socks he also added a zippered hoodie to his ensemble, making him look like he was headed for the gym. Though if anyone had seen him following Skye to meet the others, they might have assumed he was headed instead for a court-marshal, or maybe even his own execution.

Before they arrived she turned to him, and whether unconsciously or with purpose she let her mask slip, making him realize that while he might not agree with her about what she apparently thought HE needed, maybe it was okay to be there because SHE needed him to be. "You don't have to stay the whole time; I won't try to stop you from leaving. But soon enough it won't be just us. And while it is, I just feel like - " She paused for a moment, looking for the words, not finding them.

Coulson didn't smile, didn't nod, didn't try to finish her sentence, but he understood, and she knew he understood.

"Mr. Director, good of you to join us" Trip said, teasing and light, when they entered the common area.

May was obviously surprised to see him, but he noticed in her nod that she seemed glad he was there.

Billy was still playing the dutiful host, pleased as punch to have company beyond just the service personnel. He delivered a bowl of popcorn and asked Coulson what he wanted to drink. (Soda was the right choice, though he craved a bottle of something that might help him forget.)

And Jemma. Precious Jemma, welcoming him with her brave face and red-rimmed eyes, patting the space beside her on the love seat, hugging the tablet that would alert her of any changes to Fitz' condition.

"Simmons," he greeted, voice warm and even, accepting the seat.

"Sir," she answered just as warmly.

To someone looking in, it might have seemed wrong or troubling or distasteful that a group of people who had just faced so much horror, seen so much loss, had so much serious work to do, could bring themselves to lounge around in their pajamas and laugh like idiots at a movie they'd all seen at least twice. But it was because of the horror and the loss and the seriousness that they needed to lounge and laugh.

And how much would Coulson have hated himself if he'd chosen that night to start drawing lines in the sand. If he had missed or God forbid prevented May from out-quoting Billy on one of the classic Holy Grail speeches, or Skye and Jemma from braiding each other's hair, or Trip from showing off his prowess at throwing popcorn into people's mouths.

No, tomorrow he would be back in his suit and they would receive their assignments and follow his directives, and the fact that he was here with them now, sharing in this time as he'd shared in all the horror and loss AND good that had come before, yes, it WOULD mean something. But not what he had previously feared.

Walls and boundaries and lines would have their place; they would be built and mapped and drawn soon enough. But tonight, he was off the clock.

It was May who took charge when the movie was over, ordering everyone to bed. Trip and Jemma enveloped Skye into a long, swaying, somehow lighthearted embrace ("Skye sandwich", Trip had called it) before they left together to check on Fitz, intentional in acknowledging everyone else individually before they departed (May – a kind look; Billy – a clap on the shoulder; Coulson – a handshake from Trip, a squeeze of the arm from Jemma).

Billy refused their offers to help him clean up, saying a jovial goodnight and going about his business.

May took him aside, whispered in his ear ("Wake me if you need me. I mean it.") before taking off ahead of them back toward the bunks.

Skye and Coulson took their time. He carried the comforter she had used to stretch out on the floor during parts of the movie, had shared with May near the end on the couch. She carried her pillow against her chest like a teddy bear, in a way that made him wonder if being held was what she needed right now, and what it would mean to her if he would offer.

"So, what's next, boss?" he managed to tease lightly, a way of telling her if she wasn't quite ready to be alone she didn't have to be.

"We both have our orders from May. Time to go to bed, I guess." She didn't seem completely sold on the idea though was revealing little, distracted.

"I outrank her, you know," he said conversationally. "And as my S.O., you outrank me."

She returned to the moment and grinned at the thought. "But she's MY S.O."

He was grinning, too. "This could really confuse things going forward."

"Maybe tonight we ought to just do what we're told." She eyed him critically as they walked. "You've got to be exhausted. And tomorrow is an important day."

"I AM exhausted," he revealed. But the idea of returning to his room alone filled him with dread. He anticipated that without further distraction his mind would return to its previous state, racing with thoughts and scenarios and unsolvable problems. It was unlike him to worry this much – he was a practical man who saw worry as a waste of the imagination. When it reared its ugly head it prompted him to get organized, make plans. But it was his fear that was making him irrational and muddled – fear that he would find himself back at the wall, carving symbols he couldn't understand, delving further into the madness that had claimed Garrett.

Skye waited for him to continue, to affirm that they should in fact do as they were told. But when he stopped after admitting his exhaustion, the omission was telling. "You know," she began carefully, not wanting to push, wanting to gauge his reaction, "technically May didn't say WHAT bed we had to go to." She took his non-reaction as encouragement. "If you wanted some company."

Strictly speaking, that suggestion could have been seen as a junior agent propositioning her boss. But the thought of her being inappropriate didn't even cross his mind. "If you help me set up my Smart TV, we could get Netflix on a bigger screen and watch more 'Bones'."

He could tell himself he was doing it for her, the way she beamed at him, relaxed. But maybe it was okay that he was doing it for both of them.

Skye handed him her pillow and skipped off to the bathroom she currently shared with Jemma and May to brush her teeth and floss out a piece of popcorn stuck near the back that was bothering her. When she met him in his bunk, he was using an electric screwdriver to install the mount for his TV on the wall facing the foot of his bed. She got to work laying out the cords and running a power bar from the closest outlet while they talked about what had happened in the last episode after he'd fallen asleep. Once the TV was mounted and secured, he closed himself in his en suite to get ready for bed and left her to get things connected to the Wi-Fi.

When Coulson returned, Skye had already made herself comfortable, leaning back on her pillow that she'd propped against the headboard, cuddled into her comforter, her expression a mixture of tenderness and contentment when she smiled at him as he slipped under the covers. Before she pressed play, she said, "Thanks, A.C. For letting me hang out."

"Just following orders," he answered wryly, but she heard the sentiment underneath.

There was less chatting this night than the last, and so it didn't take long for Coulson to get distracted by his thoughts. But Skye was also quicker to pick up on this shift, and laid a hand on his chest. "Stop," she scolded. "Do we need to choose a different show?"

"I don't think it would matter. Sorry; I'll do better."

"How can I help?"

She had already helped by asking him matter-of-factly, without a hint of pity in her voice and also without judgement. Mostly because of this he found himself answering truthfully with a frustrated sigh. "I honestly don't know."

They stared at the screen some more, both of them distracted now. Skye's hand was still on his chest and THAT helped, too. He was about to cover it with one of his own when she broke contact and pressed "pause".

"One of my foster mom's was a massage therapist, and when she'd check on me during the night if I was having trouble sleeping, she used to do this thing that would always put me out." She pushed off her blanket and sat forward. "It's not weird or anything. I think you'll like it."

"Skye."

This time it was just her name, with no hidden message to interpret. Because he wasn't sure whether "yes" or "no" was the right answer.

She made the decision for him. "I'll keep the TV on so you have something to listen to. Can you scoot down until your feet are at the end of the bed?" When he didn't move she manhandled him a bit until he started cooperating. And grumbling. "Trust me. If this doesn't work, I'll leave you alone. I promise."

Suddenly he hoped very much that it WOULD work, and became more compliant.

Skye has maneuvered him more central on the bed, still flat on his back, making room for her to sit behind him, her legs extending on either side of him and a thin pillow more or less in her lap. She pressed "play" again and turned down the volume. "That still loud enough?"

"It's fine." He sounded terse, almost cold.

"I know what you're doing," she accused, but then her voice changed. "And it's okay; I get it. You're the Director now, and this feels like we're crossing a line. Am I right?"

His non-answer was answer enough.

"Will it help if I promise that none of this is going to make me respect you less? And if I promise to be my usual professional self when we're not off the clock?"

He'd had his eyes glued to the TV, but when she said that he couldn't help but glance up at her and let out a little huff of a laugh.

"Okay, fair enough. How about if I promise not to get any WORSE at being professional?"

"You could promise to do BETTER," he suggested casually.

Now it was her turn to laugh. "Sorry, Director. I'm going to need more incentive than THIS."

And then her hands were on his shoulders, alternating pressure and gently pushing his shoulder blades to a more supportive and comfortable position. Coulson's eyes closed and he heard himself sighing before he could stop the reaction.

After a while her hands moved under his head, adjusting the pillow to give her access, her fingers pulling at the back of his neck, stretching it, releasing tension he wasn't aware had been stored there. And by the time her nails began scratching along his hairline, he'd forgotten about the TV, forgotten about his reservations, forgotten the worry and the work. His full focus was on the sensation, on the contact. And he actually found himself fighting sleep because it felt so good and he didn't want to miss anything, didn't want it to stop.

When her hands left his neck and smoothed up the sides of his head, he made a frustrated sound, but Skye wasn't finished. Her fingers applied just the right amount of pressure above his eyebrows, at his temples, behind his ears, along his jawline. Creating a current, a path for the tension to follow and then disperse. Careful to avoid cuts and bruises, to bring only pleasure and no further pain.

He was breathing deeply but not quite asleep when he could feel her lean more fully against the headboard, shifting to stretch and arch her back. But whether because she knew he was still awake or just needed more contact herself, she stayed there. Her touch became less methodical but no less soothing, fingers drawing light patterns on his forehead, playing in his hair.

When he awoke with a start hours later, not remembering the dream that had disturbed his peacefulness, his TV cast a dim glow as his screensaver moved the brand name from corner to corner. He took a few moments to take stock of how he was feeling: somewhat rested, it seemed, and with no compulsion to leave his room not related to the need to relieve himself.

It wasn't until he returned to bed that he realized Skye was still there, cocooned and barely visible against the wall in her comforter. He laid down as gently as he could, but she moved and yawned and opened her eyes.

"Y'okay?"

"Bathroom break. Sorry I woke you." He dug around a bit until he found the remote and clicked the power off.

"Time's't?"

"Just after four." His alarm was set for 6:30 a.m.

Another yawn, a stretch, pushing back the comforter. "Should I leave?" Managing coherence this time.

'Should' was an interesting word, and it hung heavy between them for a moment, and when that moment stretched to a minute and he'd yet to answer and she'd yet to move, he thought maybe she'd dozed off again. But when a minute became five and his consideration of the word 'should' had evolved to consideration of what he should tell her about the carving, when he should tell her, IF he should tell her, and the feeling of dread and worry and near panic settled in his chest it was almost as if she sensed it there because she rolled toward him and placed a firm hand on his sternum, fingers splayed.

He froze, but his dread and worry and panic were immediately halted.

Then she was humming softly, and her hand traveled from his chest to his shoulder and down his arm. She turned his hand upward and stroked each of his fingers from knuckle to tip, then turned her focus to his palm, tracing letters that his mind tried to follow. Still humming. The effect was strangely hypnotic, calming him, relaxing him, allowing the pull of sleep to sneak up on him.

When his alarm woke him he could smell her shampoo, but it was just her pillow against his face. Skye was gone. But he was on the clock. And so it wasn't the time to reflect on how it made him feel to wake up alone.

He didn't see her again until they were all in his office for assignments. The mood in the room was solemn but resolved: they were in this, and they were in this together. It encouraged him, summoned hope, and allowed him to relegate the reality of his condition, about what was likely to come, to the back of his mind for now. Looking at their eager and expectant faces, he couldn't help but commit himself to doing all he could, with them and for them, in the time he had left.

"Skye, can you hang back for a minute please?" The others filed out as came around to the front of his desk, leaning back casually. Skye stood in front of him like a soldier awaiting orders. "Skye, I've asked May to intensify your training. Your tech skills already make you a valuable asset, but we're low on bodies and it's unlikely we'll be able to keep you holed up here."

"I don't want to be holed up here either, sir."

The 'sir' was added without irony or special emphasis. That was a good sign.

"But it's not just about being able to hold your own in the field. I'd like to give you the opportunity to become as well rounded as possible, serve and train in different areas with different people. May will coordinate that and work with you on prioritizing."

"Copy that," she told him agreeably. "Anything else?"

He sighed and looked at her critically. Her face betrayed nothing. "About last night…"

She held up her hand. "I'm going to have to stop you there, Director. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss last night."

He had to fight a smile at her seriousness. "Oh, really? And why's that?"

"I'm on the clock," she said with a good-natured smirk. And she left his office.


	3. Time

**SETTING:** Picks up after 1x22 ("Beginning of the End") and the chapter "Drawing Lines" of this story. General spoilers for season 1 and early season 2.  
 **CHAPTER SUMMARY:** Fitz wakes up.

* * *

The day Fitz awoke from the coma, Coulson wasn't answering his phone.

He'd been holed up but not exactly sequestered. "By appointment only" had been Billy's repeated refrain, and he took the command very seriously. Still, Coulson had been present at the evening meals and the morning briefings, and had been meeting regularly with each of them about their assignments. Just "by appointment only", that was all.

Skye had the most appointments, and the longest ones, as her responsibilities were more varied and complicated. They rarely met alone, but Skye was keeping track of how he looked, how he sounded. And all things considered, he looked and sounded good. When they DID have a few minutes to themselves, she was more pointed in her evaluations: Was he sleeping? Was he eating? Did he need to take a break? And Coulson truthfully reported that he was rested and fed and feeling energized by the work he was doing. All was well. And she believed him, so for the most part she left him alone. She had her own duties and her own tasks to attend to, after all.

But the evening Fitz woke up from the coma, she didn't have time to make an appointment, and the fact that he was ignoring her calls and texts annoyed her to no end. Billy was off-site with May, so neither of them would be any help. She'd have to take matters into her own hands.

Skye could hear loud music from inside the office, loud enough to make her knocking ineffective. The door was locked, but electronically. And since a part of her assigned tasks related to electronic security, she already - mostly - had access. She pulled out her tablet and it didn't take long to get her the rest of the way.

Coulson didn't look up, didn't notice her, until she swatted the arm of the record player, bringing a sudden silence to the room. "'Appointment only' applies to you too, Skye," he told her curtly, obviously annoyed at being interrupted.

"Yeah, you can write me up on that later." She stalked toward his desk and picked up his phone, typing in the unlock code from memory (she'd been looking over his shoulder a few times) before tossing it to him. "Knowing you had your phone on silent is only slightly better than thinking you were just ignoring my texts, by the way. Now let's go."

Skye was already on her way out of the room so he had no choice but to follow if he wanted to find out what was going on. "And where are we going exactly?" he asked as he rushed to catch up, shrugging on his suit jacket.

"Fitz is waking up."

"You could have led with that," he mumbled, overtaking her, trying to banish the hope that flushed through him along with the burst of adrenaline her words incited.

Her hand curled around his forearm, slowing him. "Coulson, what if -"

"Don't," he cut her off abruptly, but his hand over hers soothed any offense as he now pulled her along. "Whatever happens..."

"I know." She let go of his arm as they approached, allowing him to enter first.

Alarms were blaring. Fitz was panicking. Jemma was panicking. Trip was obviously trying not to panic but was way out of his depth.

Coulson took charge in the only way he could.

"Fitz!" Coulson laid a hand on the young man's chest, partially to restrain and partially to offer reassurance. "Fitz, I need you to calm down." He barked at Trip to turn off the monitor alarms, an order that was hastily obeyed and that immediately lowered the stress in the room by a few degrees. "Fitz, I know you're freaking out, I get it. But you're safe. You're going to be fine. So I need you to breathe, buddy." 'Buddy' - the word felt strange as it left Coulson's lips, like something he would say to a child. But then Fitz looked like a child just then, seemed very small and helpless, sobbing. So maybe that was okay. Maybe it was what he needed. "Fitz, breathe."

"I - I -" Fitz stuttered, trying to put together thoughts, words. Frustrated, terrified that he couldn't.

Skye was at Coulson's side now, at Fitz' side, drying his tears and then pulling his seeking hand into her own. "You're okay, Fitz. We've got you."

"You don't need to worry about anything right now, okay?" Coulson continued. "All you have to do right now is rest and let your body heal. And do what Simmons says."

"I -" Still grasping.

"Agent Fitz, that's an order." Coulson's stern tone seemed to reach him, and he stopped trying to speak, concentrating instead of drawing in deep, shuddery breaths. "Rest, heal, and don't worry. Give Simmons some time to evaluate what's going on. Give your brain some time to get things sorted out. You've got time. We've got time."

Coulson looked up at Jemma then, watched her racing around, saw that while Fitz was calming her panic was still in control. So when she left the room to retrieve something he followed her, standing in the doorway then grabbed her by the wrist as she tried to push by him and pulled her into his arms. Her protests were lost mid-sentence before the maneuver was even completed as she gave into her tears. He held her for a really long time, gently rocking, leaning close to her ear and murmuring reassurances.

When she finally pulled away, he wouldn't let her hide, wouldn't let her duck away in embarrassment. Instead he took her face in his hands, wiping at her tears with his thumbs, holding her gaze. "You've got this, okay? Just slow down. Take your time." He returned the small smile that crept to her lips. "We've got time."

(Jemma would repeat this to Fitz for the months to follow as his progress remained slow and halting. The real Jemma, and the Jemma Fitz' injured brain would eventually concoct in her absence.)

Coulson released her then to let her work, trusting she was ready to do what needed to be done. Ordering Trip to stay at her side, to do whatever was asked, he stepped back outside the room to let them work, motioning for Skye to join him.

They stood watching through the glass wall for a long time, processing, calming. Finally he started walking away towards his bunk, and she walked with him, still silent.

Eventually Coulson roused from his thoughts when he felt like he was being watched, glanced at Skye who was looking at him with a funny expression.

"What's that face for?"

"I don't know," she said with a grin and a shrug. "Just the way you handled that..."

Coulson rolled his eyes. "No. Don't even."

"What?"

"I see you getting all sentimental. Don't you dare start calling me 'dad'."

Skye nearly tripped over her own feet in surprise that he had so completely misread her. "Whoa. Dude. I'm aware people must think I have the mother of all daddy issues, but _that_ isn't gonna happen, no worries." She wrinkled her nose. "Although I guess you WERE pretty parental back there. Which probably makes it mostly creepy that I thought it was kinda hot."

Coulson let out a short, surprised burst of laughter, and may have blushed just a little bit. "'Hot'? You've gotta be kidding me."

"Strong, authoritative man who is also in touch with his feelings?" she teased. "Chicks totally dig that."

"Maybe, but this 'strong, authoritative man' is _actually_ old enough to be your father, so there's that."

"Oh, come on, Phil." She bumped him with her shoulder. "We could totally pull off an April/September thing. It would be adorable."

"Thanks for not saying 'December', but that's DIRECTOR to you, young lady," he answered sternly. "And since you're obviously already dreaming, it's probably past your bedtime."

She smiled at him sweetly, but her next suggestion could only have been lewd. "You offering to tuck me in?"

"Stop!" he told her, laughing again.

He should have chastised her in earnest. But Fitz was awake. It made it okay to laugh and be silly.

They parted ways, Coulson intending to bathe and go to bed early, Skye intending to go for a run, grab a snack and a shower, then head back to Fitz and see what she could do to help. But in the end he DID find himself tucking her in, summoned to her quarters by a short text claiming that something was definitely wrong with Fitz, and Jemma wasn't sure it would be temporary.

Yet when he arrived, they didn't talk about it, didn't talk really at all. She let him in, turned off the light and led him to the bed as though expecting a long, hushed conversation. He pulled the covers to her shoulders and then climbed around her, his back coming to lean against the wall and his legs bent over hers, settling in as though he expected the same. But what was there to say that hadn't already been said in the heat of things? All they could do was give Fitz time, and hope for the best.

Coulson stayed for a long while, even after Skye had fallen asleep. And as he left he adjusted her blankets, smoothed her hair, pressed his lips to her forehead. Very parental things to do, he realized, containing a chuckle that rose to his throat. But as he walked back to his own room he allowed himself a few moments to dwell on some very non-parental feelings. "'Hot'," he said aloud to himself, then shook his head, amused and a little bemused as well.

It would be a lie to say he wasn't guilty of flirting in the past, of noticing her flirting, but this was the first time either of them had outright entertained the notion - even, as it was, in complete jest - of anything romantic ever developing between them. Mostly, though, their earlier foolishness had made him realize how wonderful it was to have someone in his life he COULD flirt and be foolish with, without it needing to be anything more.

As he shut himself inside his own room, he let that line of thought go. He had more important things to mull over, more important things to keep in focus.

And as for anything Skye's goading might have teased to the surface... well, what could he do but take his own advice: Give it time, and maybe - just maybe - hope for the best.


	4. Accusations

**SETTING:** Picks up after 1x22 ("Beginning of the End") and the chapter "Time" of this story. General spoilers for season 1 and early season 2.  
 **CHAPTER SUMMARY:** May makes an accusation.

* * *

When the text arrived, Skye was in Coulson's room, curled up on his bed with her laptop and pretending not to watch him do push ups. (Coulson decided that she was either bad at pretending or wasn't working that hard at it. He, on the other hand, was working harder at his push ups because he knew she was watching.)

"Crap! I was supposed to meet Fitz 10 minutes ago." While Fitz was no longer under constant medical care and had moved into his own room, a few of them were taking shifts watching over him during his waking hours, talking to him, trying to encourage him to practice speaking even though it frustrated him. This night, however, she'd promised to let him be and just hang out. He had asked her (in a halting stutter) to watch "Paranormal Activity" with him, and she'd reluctantly agreed, though soon after informed Coulson that he shouldn't be surprised if she showed up at his door in the middle of the night if she was too creeped out to sleep alone.

Coulson, for his part, was fine with that.

"Don't tell me you were distracted," he teased, getting to his feet and extending a hand to her.

She took it and let him help propel her off the bed. "Get over yourself, Director." But when he didn't release her and she saw him trying to sneak a glance at the bracelet monitoring her vitals, she slapped at his hand and broke free, turning the read-out away from him to hide her heart rate, which may or may not have been elevated. "Hey, no fair!"

Skye thought the bracelet was to help her to learn control, though May had of course installed it so that it could monitor her remotely and help them discover if she'd been effected by the GH.325 they'd administered. It had only JUST occurred to Coulson that it might have a recreational use as well.

He and Skye hadn't spent much time together since Fitz had regained consciousness. Between Skye's increased duties and training and her determination to be there for FitzSimmons however and whenever she could, she didn't have a lot of time to spare. And Phil felt like he was being pulled in every direction, working with minimal staff and resources to do what felt like an impossible job.

But that afternoon they both seemed to have hit a wall. They'd been in a meeting with May and found themselves in a heated disagreement about an upcoming mission, one that led to a very over-blown shouting match that May had simply stood back and watched for awhile before she finally called for a time out.

Skye still had a full head of steam, but after a steadying breath it had occurred pretty quickly to Coulson that there was probably more to this than the mission. "May, can you give us a minute?" She'd left without hesitation, though waited just outside the door thinking she'd be able to hear if the yelling started again.

It didn't.

Skye had her arms crossed over her chest, ready to be on the defensive, expecting him to chastise for her being insubordinate, or worse. So when after a few unreadable moments he'd answered her glare with a softening expression and a small smile, she'd been completely thrown off.

"It's past dinner time," he'd said casually. "Do you want to grab something after we finish this up?"

"Are you suggesting I'm cranky because I'm hungry?" A sharper tone would have warned him to head for the hills, but she seemed to be catching on.

"I'm suggesting that I make a mean grilled cheese, and if you play your cards right I might be persuaded to prove it to you."

Arms still crossed, she'd tried to convey annoyance but wasn't quite selling it. "I can't tell if this is meant to be a bribe."

"I wouldn't dream of it." And with that he'd taken a few steps toward the door to call May back in, pausing as he passed the chair where she sat to lay a hand briefly on her shoulder, giving it a meaningful squeeze.

When May had returned she looked between them and asked, "We good?"

"Yeah, we're good," Coulson had assured her.

Their interlude hadn't solved the disagreement and it still took time to iron out a compromise, but there was no more shouting. And in the end he made grilled cheese for all three of them. After May had taken her leave, Skye had walked with him back to his quarters, at one point pressing into his side and saying, "Sorry, for before."

"Me too." Then he'd smirked. "Though it really is your fault, you know."

"Oh really?" She'd sensed he was teasing despite his characteristically even tone. "And why is that exactly?"

"You're supposed to be in charge of making sure I relax when I need to," he reminded her. "And based on our little meltdown earlier, I'd say I'm passed due."

Her elbow found his ribs, but she conceded, at least partially. "My bad. But in my defense my boss has been riding me pretty hard. Not leaving a lot of time for our secret mission."

"I'll have a talk with him. I'm sure I can get him to listen to reason."

They'd smiled at each other as though the matter was settled.

When they reached his bunk Skye wordlessly invited herself in, and what followed was just what they both needed.

She helped him put away his laundry, making him blush ever so slightly when she pulled the first pair of boxer shorts out of the basket and folded them without comment, without any interruption to their casual conversation. It was only when she found a hooded S.H.I.E.L.D. training sweatshirt that had become extra soft after years of use that she reacted at all, humming and then rubbing a sleeve to her cheek. "I guess with things being as they are I'm not likely to get any S.H.I.E.L.D. swag of my own, huh?" she asked.

"I'll put the team on alert during the next re-appropriation mission."

"I'll hold you to that," she said with a smile. Then she tossed it aside and picked up a pile of t-shirts, walking to his dresser and trying once, twice before finding the right drawer. "You should change." He was still wearing his suit. "What's your pleasure?"

"I should probably get a workout in. I've got shorts here." He caught the t-shirt she threw his way. "You want to join me? We could do some hand to hand."

"Thanks, but I already had my ass kicked by May this morning; my body needs a break." She returned to the bed and the piles of clothes. "You can get dressed; I'll take care of this stuff."

When he returned from his bathroom, dressed to train, he saw that all his laundry save one piece had found its way to the appropriate drawer. The S.H.I.E.L.D. sweatshirt had found its way on to her body.

"That sweater has a story," he told her, not revealing his delight at her presumption.

He flopped on the bed next to her to tie his sneakers, but ended up being there for quite some time when she told him, "I'd like to hear it."

It was a pretty good story, and he was happy to tell it. And that story led to another, and then a story from her. Eventually he moved to the floor and began to stretch in preparation for hitting the gym, and when he laid on his back to do crunches while her story continued, she slipped off the bed and sat backwards on his feet to provide counterweight, slouching against his legs.

And then there were push ups, and Skye back on the bed with her laptop pretending not to watch, and an unexpectedly inconvenient text.

"Do you need me to keep my door unlocked?" he asked with a teasing grin as she prepared to join Fitz for the planned Paranormal Activity viewing. "So you can sneak in covertly in shame if things get a little too spooky for you?"

Skye gave him the finger, and his laughter followed her from the room.

When the knock came less than 30 seconds later, he assumed it was her and was surprised to find May at his door, looking grim. Well, grimmer than usual.

He immediately went into work-mode and invited her in, not realizing that she hadn't intended to visit until she'd turned a corner and witnessed Skye (who was headed in the other direction so didn't see May watching) exiting her boss's quarters. Wearing his sweatshirt. "What is it, May?"

"You're sleeping with Skye." It made sense now - the change she'd sensed between them, today's display in his office. And this was actually the second time she'd seen Skye leave his room, but that first time she'd chosen to ignore it, chosen to consider that there was a million reasons she might have met him there.

Right at this moment, she could only think of one reason.

Coulson was completely floored by her pronouncement. "I beg your pardon?"

"I don't even know what to say. With everything that's going on, I can't believe that you would - " Another knock stopped her mid-sentence.

The unlocked door opened and Skye let herself in, pausing when she realized Coulson wasn't alone. "Um... hi, guys," Skye ventured, looking between them, trying to read the situation and caught off guard by the look May was giving her. "Just... uh... My laptop," she gestured helplessly. Coulson gave her a look of assent and Skye stepped around them to scoop up the computer from where she'd left it on the bed. "Sorry to have interrupted."

"Not a problem," Coulson said evenly. But apparently May took issue with his nonchalance and made an incredulous noise that stopped Skye in her tracks. And then it occurred to her what might be going on and she was overcome by the need to defend Coulson's honour, if not her own.

"I'm sorry, May" Skye began defensively. "Is there something you want to say to me?"

And as May took a step toward her it was obvious there was quite a bit she wanted to say.

Coulson tried to break in first. "Skye - "

"I've got this, Phil," she said offhandedly, his first name slipping out and unnoticed by everyone but, of course, Melinda. "Listen, May, this is -"

"Skye, we're on the clock. *I've* got this."

Immediately Skye stood down, and with an un-ironic "Copy that" left his quarters and left him to deal with it. It happened so quickly that May was taken aback. It happened so quickly that another day Coulson would reward her with more grilled cheese sandwiches.

"What I do in the privacy of my bunk, with Skye or anyone else, is not your concern, Melinda."

His tone said 'boss'. The use of her first name kept it personal, gave her implied permission to not let it drop.

"But I AM concerned, Phil. You can't pretend like this kind of thing can happen in a bubble. The consequences -"

"You slept with Ward." His matter-of-fact statement sounded unnecessarily cold even to him.

"Not fair. And not even close to the same thing."

"Why?" Now he was feeling a little angry. "Because of the age difference? Because I'm in charge? Because you're waiting to have to put a bullet in my head?"

"Because you care about each other." Mic dropped. But she continued anyway. "With Ward, it was just sex. But the two of you... There's no way that's not getting messy. And I don't need to remind you that things are already messy enough." 'Messy' was an understatement. Truth be told she was terrified the day might come that she'd need to make the hard decision, if he lost himself to the carving, to the madness. And he saw it in her eyes. He had only carved once so far, but neither of them was naive enough to even _hope_ it was an isolated incident.

This would have been the right time to simply deny that he and Skye were sleeping together. May would have believed him, after all.

But she would also want to know what they WERE doing, if not having sex. And that was something Coulson didn't want to share. Not because he was embarrassed or concerned about what May might think, but because his private times with Skye were special, and theirs alone, and not something he wanted subjected to judgment or teasing or scrutiny of any kind. Certainly not something he'd want to be talked out of.

"Your concern is noted, Agent May. But I'll thank you to keep it to yourself from now on."

"Yes, sir." 'Agent' now. She knew the discussion was over for the time being, needed to be over. But she couldn't help but add, "Just keep in mind that we ALL care about you, both of you."

The sentiment in and of itself was enough to diffuse any negative feelings she's riled up, but he wasn't exactly sure what she was getting at. "Your point being...?"

"My point being..." She pursed her lips. "My point being that when one or both of you inevitably gets hurt, it will effect all of us."

And with that, she turned and left him to stew alone.

And stew he did. Coulson skipped the gym and just ran instead so he would be less likely to be disturbed. The music blaring from his earphones was meant to distract him but had very little effect as he found himself considering May's words. Ultimately, sex wasn't the issue. He knew that Skye loved him and trusted him and should he go the way of Garrett, their growing closeness would only make it hurt more. So even if May had been wrong about her presumption, maybe she was still right in the ways that mattered.

But hours later, after he had showered and gone to bed, any thoughts of right and wrong were forgotten when Coulson awoke to find Skye climbing onto his bed, wrapped in a blanket and hugging a pillow, still (or again) in his sweatshirt.

"I didn't leave it unlocked."

He felt her jump. "Jesus, Coulson! You scared the crap out of me!"

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you for breaking in," he chided her. "Since apparently unlike you, I don't ever assume things that go bump in the night are from the great beyond."

"That's just mean," she mumbled, laying on top of the covers and turning away from him, curling into a ball. "I shouldn't have to remind you that the last 'ghost' we dealt with was a bit of a horror show. That alone should get me some lenience here. A modicum of compassion."

Coulson smiled into the darkness. "How's Fitz?"

Her sigh betrayed her, though she answered with a hopeful "Coming along." A pause. "How's May?"

"She thinks we're sleeping together."

"Yeah, I figured." Skye rolled onto her back. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her to mind her own business."

"Seriously?" Her laughter was his reward. "I'm sure she LOVED that." Then a groan. "I have combat training with her at 7 a.m."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

"Sometimes I really hate you, you know."

"Look at the bright side - you probably won't be thinking about ghosts for the rest of the night."

"Angry May is way scarier than ghosts," Skye agreed, completely serious. "To be honest, NON-angry May is scarier than ghosts. Please tell me after you pissed her off you told her the truth."

"Oops, I KNEW I'd forgotten something."

"You're walking me to training in the morning. And staying until you're sure I'm safe."

"Yeah, THAT'll look good."

"If she already thinks we're having sex, it can't look that much worse."

"Yeah. You are so dead."

By then Coulson was laughing, a hearty, healing laugh. And when she punched him - hard - on the arm, it only made him laugh more. His loss of control got her giggling, and soon they were gasping for air and wiping their eyes.

When they regained control, they returned to their respective thoughts - Skye's, mostly dread at facing May, and Coulson's, in spite of May's warnings and his earlier introspection, just allowing himself to enjoy in that moment that he wasn't alone. And no matter what might happen in the future or what he might talk himself into or out of in the morning, this young woman brooding beside him was a treasure that should not be taken for granted.

Before Coulson nodded off, Skye spoke up, "Seriously, you're walking me to training tomorrow. I mean it."

"Yes ma'am." It was the least he could do.


	5. Trust

**SETTING:** Picks up after 1x22 ("Beginning of the End") and a few weeks after the chapter "Accusations" of this story. General spoilers for season 1 and early season 2.  
 **CHAPTER SUMMARY:** Skye grapples with losing trust.

* * *

Trust had never come naturally to Skye, and many times that she'd given into its allure - the feeling of safety, of REST, that comes with believing another person is up to the task of guarding your body and heart and circumstances - she'd been moved to a new foster home, or the relationship had ended, or Grant Ward had turned out to be working for Hydra all along.

The latter had been the most recent blow, and maybe that was the reason it seemed so large in her memory. Or maybe because when it came to trust, she'd really gone all in with these people. But Ward had been a master at deception, pushing all the right buttons, pulling all the right strings, making her think and feel things about him, about herself. And now it physically HURT her to think about it - knotted her stomach, constricted her throat, stung her eyes.

It wasn't because she'd developed romantic inclinations towards him; there were certainly no lingering yearnings in that regard. She hurt because trusting her team, her SHIELD family, had felt so damn good. She hurt because she was in mourning for that feeling, a part of her believing that she'd never truly feel it again.

This was exacerbated by the fact that new personnel were arriving, and if they were as good at deception as Ward, any one (or more) of them could conceivably be a Hydra mole. As a result, their inner core was on high alert. The newbies were restricted from making any outside contact as they went through rigorous screening, and Skye had volunteered to make sure nothing slipped through. But she was taking it beyond that - monitoring keystrokes, monitoring internal communications, monitoring conversations in hallways that might appear in any way covert.

Weeks of this on top of all of her more official responsibilities had left her often shaking with stress and over-caffeination. And when in one of their (rare these days, as everyone had so much to do) private meetings Coulson drew attention to a tremor in her hand and the dark circles under her eyes and she first blew up at him and then burst into tears, she finally had to admit to herself that she couldn't continue like this.

Coulson was thrown off-guard by her sudden overreaction, so much so that it gave her the time to apologize and flee. He was immediately hit with guilt over not intervening sooner when he'd started to notice the change in her. But he'd been busy on the recruitment and screening trail, busy managing his own stress, his own fear of future betrayal by the people he was bringing in, by his own mind and body that could at any day force him to carve against his will, bringing him one step closer to the insanity he feared the most.

He wanted to seek her out but couldn't, as it was barely 9:30 and his calendar was full and his next appointment was only minutes away. He traveled so much now that when he WAS back at the base he needed to cram in as many meetings as he could. There was so much to do. He had so many balls in the air. S.H.I.E.L.D. was depending on him. The PLANET was depending on him. As much as he cared for her, he couldn't halt everything to dry her tears.

At least that's what he was telling himself as he tried his best to stay on task during Billy Koenig's update. He made it through their meeting, but before the man stood to leave Coulson found himself saying, "I need you to do something for me." That "something" was rescheduling Coulson's week so that today he could do what he needed to do.

He was pleased when she answered on the second ring, surprised that she'd answered at all.

"I'm sorry," was her greeting.

"When was the last time you were outside?" was his response.

Awhile later he was backing Lola out of a supply plane and Skye found herself crying again in unexpected relief at the feeling of fresh air on her skin. Coulson said nothing, but reached over and placed a warm hand on her thigh. Her answering smile through her tears, full and beautiful, convinced him he'd made the right decision to go off the clock.

They drove for a long time, stopping occasionally to eat and pee and stretch and refuel and then driving some more. And as they drove they talked about their work, they talked about their fear (though Coulson withheld the source of his worst fear, of course, unwilling yet to burden her with it), they talked about their anger over losing their ability to trust. They also talked about good memories and good feelings. They talked about Jemma and Fitz, about May and Trip. They talked about hope. And though she didn't recognize it until they made it back on the plane and Coulson had to help her strap in because her muscles felt literally weak with release, Skye had been leaving the bulk of her stress and tension along the road as she re-centred to the truth that she still had someone in her life that she trusted completely to hold her heart and her hand.

She squeezed the fingers that entwined with hers even as he engaged one of the supply crew in conversation. He squeezed back, present with her. She dozed against his shoulder, then slept.


End file.
